Senior Hour Treasure Hunt at CostCo, or the Quest for Toilet Paper (for your) Booty

Well, some things are just impossible lately to get shopping online for pickup or delivery.

So, I tied on the homemade polyester-blend T-shirt mask Barbara crafted for me (and, Lysoling the sucker inside and out beforehand) -- and donning some plastic janitorial gloves -- drove to CostCo at the b**tcrack of dawn for "senior shopping hour."

I got there at 7:20 a.m., well before the official 8-9 a.m. Golden Years hour . . . and still was eighth in line. Tape marked off 6-foot intervals stretching from the entrance down the side of the building, and into the distance horizons, out of sight.

By 8 a.m., all those social-distancing berths were filled; the queue stretched around the warehouse, behind it, and was nearing a full circumnavigation of CostCo.

There were surgical masks, dust masks, dish towel masks, knee socks masks, and not a few underwear and T-shirt masks; gloves like mind, white dinner/butler gloves, driving gloves, work gloves, and a few folks who had wrapped their hands in sanitizing wipes.

A few people smiled -- I think they smiled, from the crinkled eyes -- but most were silent, and tense. I felt especially sad for some frail, octogenarian women and shuffling elderly (well, more elder than myself) couples who wore near-dispair like a quivering, dark aura.

Fear. This is what we have come to, as Covid-19 and its seemingly increasing isolation, restrictions, shortages -- and uncertain future for our social institutions, civil rights, and economy -- weighs more heavily. The 15-day plan became the 30-day plan and now, some warn, could stretch through summer.

Once inside, the first thing this serpentine procession of seniors saw as a smiling employee parceling out the allowed "one only" 30-roll megapack of Scott toilet paper. Plop, roll the cart 6 feet. Plop. Roll the cart 6 more feet. Plop . . . .

I added a 12-pack of off-brand paper towels next. Then some hand soap. A few grocery items. Oddly enough, couldn't find orange juice -- frozen or liquid -- anywhere.

The pace inside was glacial as it was surreal. The 6-foot rule was a challenge to observe, with people suddenly stopping to gaze at their cellphones, or just standing with confused, tired looks.

Not an experience I would want to repeat anytime soon, but it was nice to be able to find something to . . . well, you know.

Oh, did I mention the on-site security? Two large Pacific Islander guards, each easily 300-pounds and 6-foot-3, 4, watched the crowd outside.

Nary a graybeard in queue challenged them, though they did turn away a few younger types trying to enter the store during the Hour.

I know this experience was traumatic emotionally for some people in line (I passed the period listening to Eikona chant the daily Orthodox Prayers on my iPhone) . . . but compared to the chaotic conditions in other countries due to Covid-19 right now, we have things easy.

We need to remember that, right? And this will end.

As for the aftermath, the impact on future pandemic preparations -- and how much this all has further weakened our freedoms of movement, association, privacy, even, some say, religion -- remains to be seen.

A Lenten Pandemic: No one said it would be easy, but life and faith are hard

No one said (or should have said) this was going to be easy. 

But no one told us, just a month ago when the Covid-19 virus quit being a tragedy "over there," worthy of our "thoughts and prayers," that it would spread so quickly and broadly within America.

As of today, we near a quarter-million confirmed cases. About 10,000 who tested positive for the virus have recovered; some 6,100 have died. (Let's not forget, somber as those figures are, worldwide well over a million confirmed cases, more than 211,000 recoveries, and 53,000 deaths).

We should lament the deaths, remembering that while the fatality rate for this pandemic is "just" 2-3 percent, the loss of a loved one hits those left behind 100 percent. We can worry about the record job losses and long-term economic fallout as businesses sink. We can fret about the increasingly restrictive emergency self-isolation and social distancing and "stay at home," under-penalty-of-law orders. 

And some of us can weave, or readily embrace in our fear, the empty outlets of blame and anger. Conspiracy theories and End Times "prophesies" abound.

And some our morally and ethically devoid fellow citizens will hoard basic supplies, anticipating soaring profits or in just plain selfishness, while their neighbors go without.

We all need a broader perspective. But are you a Christian? Then quaint, even trite as it sounds, What Would Jesus Do? Indeed, what DID Jesus do on repeated occasions when he saw crowds of hungry men, women and children?

A few loaves, a fish or two. Some disciples suggested sending those folks away; after all, the meager food on hand might sate the Twelve, but not all of those others.

No. He fed them all. He acted. He loved. He showed us how to "die daily" to self, to love others. Ultimately, He even chose to accept physical death rather than saving Himself, to reopen the gateway of eternity.

Well, we might counter, He was, after all, the Son of God. Miracles, you know -- the kind they recorded for history and faith. And we are just mortal, broken human beings!

But we can work miracles, too. We are His hands, to touch (albeit figuratively, for now), to heal, to feed, to comfort . . . to love.

Perspective, then. For Lenten believers, this has truly become a time of introspection and withdrawal from the distractions of life as we knew it. We pray for inner peace and victory over the passions -- those uncontrolled desires of the body that enslave our egos, our souls, in self will and self-centeredness.

But while this uniquely mild, short-termed monasticism we face leaves us alone with ourselves and Our God, it also crystalizes our concern and love (or it should) for our fellow human beings -- next door, in our communities, or cities, our states, nations, and the world.

For Lent, part of the Orthodox Christian prayer rule is the Prayer of St. Ephrem. It is a plea, and practice of the intellectual and bodily prostration, seeking humility and union with the spirit -- and example -- of that Nazarene rabbi who fed, healed and loved 2,000 years ago, and continues to do so today . . . if we make our hearts full of His love, and willing to be his miraculous exceptions to the fear, greed and rage of our times.

"O Lord and Master of my life, take from me the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power, and idle talk.

But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.

Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own transgressions, and not to judge my brother, for blessed art Thou, unto ages of ages. Amen."

It looks like we will not have Pascha (Easter) together in the material setting later this month, not with our churches closed by Covid-19 bans on gatherings. We may not hear the echoing of "He is Risen!" during parish processions, or share smiles and hugs and Communion with our fellows of the Faith.

But if we truly believe the Body of Christ spans time and space, matter and energy, our Pascha this year will find our hearts open doors to the Divine, and each other.

And when this pandemic is over -- and it will end -- let's never forget our precious are those gifts of life and of worship that we have taken for granted, and for so long.